Shadow Plays
by AResidentGhost
Summary: V4V&Phantom of the Opera crossover. Lerouxbased Erik with Kay and mainly gnverse V. What if V wasn't the only survivor of Larkhill? What if, years later, V calls upon the mysterious Black Masque's assistance? ON HOLD...currently being revised.
1. Memories

I remember everything that ever happened in my pitiful life, unfortunately. From a childhood of abuse to that of a hunted, wanted, and murderous adult. I could and never can escape my annoyingly good memory. It is a curse I cannot seem to escape no matter how hard I try. And to think, if I had only been the perfect little son that my mother had wished for! _Sigh._ That's all I have of my past (besides my jaded memories), basically, these "If only…" thoughts, wishes, and hopes. The most horrific, or pitiful you could say, aspect of all this was the seemingly limitless expanse of knowledge, talents, and genius that I possessed. But people don't see that, do they? No! They only saw (and still see) this _mockery of a face!_

I was born in a small town in northern France, and it is just as well you do not know what town it was exactly, for I am pretty sure that it no longer exists. My mother wanted nothing, and I mean, _nothing_ to do with me. When I was little, I believe it was about my fifth birthday, she decided to allow me to celebrate my birthday for once and the first time in my life. Sure she gave me a lot of nice presents for my developing mind and talents (She always insisted that, despite her dislike of my countenance, that I should be as educated to the best of her ability and beyond.), but when she asked if there was anything truly special that I wanted for my birthday, I answered, "A kiss, _maman._ A simple kiss. You don't have to kiss me on my lips like you do with papa… Just a kiss on the cheek…" Of course, she refused. Who wouldn't, especially if they knew what I looked like under the child mask that I wore constantly? No, I don't think anyone would have. Of course, at the time, I already knew what I looked like, as my insatiable curiosity and quest for knowledge pushed me towards looking for and finding out the reason for the mask that I was forced to wear. I was not weak, I did not scream when I saw the "monster" in that mirror's cold, unfeeling glass. No, I didn't scream, but I _did_ have many, many nightmares for weeks afterwards, many sleepless nights caused by those vivid nightmares.

I long ago accepted my fate: The fate that I would never be loved by another of the human race, accepted by the people to whom I belonged by birth, or be a normal person ever. No, my difference was far too great. And not just physically or mentally. I was born, oh, about two hundred or so years ago… and after I hit about twenty-five years, I for some reason, stopped growing. I think that might have been a result of one or a combination of the many tests they performed on me at the "resettlement camp" named "Larkhill", which I have come to call "the Hell Hole Camp".

I was, I suppose, about thirteen or fourteen years old that summer of my capture, imprisonment, torture, and experimentations, and I was performing my infamous "Living Corpse" act in a circus that was traveling through England (secretly, of course, seeing as actual sideshows that showcase human abnormalities were banned long ago) that year. What with the war and all that, people wanted to take their minds off of the events happening—the carnival and I were making incredible amounts of money at every stop, many coming just to see me. Although the fact that they came to see me and at the finale, when I removed my mask, screamed and would retch, it was a living—and probably the best I could ever entertain the thought of gaining.

When the dictatorship started, the circuses and other such carnivals were quickly disbanded (even the hidden and secretive sideshows were diligently hunted down and put out of business) and many of the performers that were, in their eyes, not normal (which even, in their eyes, included clowns, musicians, magicians, and other such performers with unique or odd talents) and therefore inhuman, were shipped off to camps. I was one of those unlucky people, of course. Did you really think I would be able to get away with a sense of normalcy with my body that has been said to be built upon death from head to foot? Who would think that I was human with my death's head and freezing touch? Worse yet, because of my "condition" I was sent to _Larkhill_ _Resettlement Camp_ to become a lab rat and studied for my peculiarities. Since they did not want to have the other "inmates" frightened by appearance as I was not allowed a mask (I also think that they had something different in store for me), I was not placed in the "normal" so called "rooms". Instead, I was placed in a cell in a wing separated from the rest of the complex. It was because of this reason, mainly, that I survived the explosions and the inferno that night. In the chaos it caused, I escaped into the wilderness, but not far away—yet. I was still around long enough to see the man who would become known as "V". This was the last I saw of him for a long time, but by no means would it be the last.


	2. Breach of Security

It was a brisk fall afternoon when the alarms sounded that _somebody_ had made it to my front door and was knocking. I was not angry, just merely upset that this had taken place, as I was currently overseeing the information that had been gathered over the past night by my "spies"—little autonomous devices that I had tinkered with for years before I was satisfied with them, and I still, at the time, would make little changes every now and then as I thought of some new addition or improvement that I felt was needed. Yes, you could call these machines "robots" but I would prefer not to use that term, as I have absolute, incorruptible (very important with my interests) control over them and their movements.

My little "spies" had recently been observing the movements of a certain masked vigilante (who was not me, but obviously off his rocker, so to speak) who was quickly becoming quite a little bugger in the scheme of things down in old London. A terrorist, the reports show. A terrorist in a mask, hat, and cloak, all together giving the impression of a Guy Fawkes impersonator. I had been fclosely following his actions and movements for a very long time, especially since he had shown up on the radar, so to speak just a little under a year ago. And I forced myself to wonder if it was that man who also escaped during the Larkhill conflagration…

My eyes flashed in annoyance, their unnatural glow was reflected in the soft, round, and highly polished metal surfaces of my study. Who could have dared to interrupt me? Especially when I was at "work"? This person must have an absolute death wish, for otherwise they would not risk my wrath. If anyone wanted to meet me, they would have to meet me on my terms, and my conditions. And one of my main conditions was, and always will be, that of silence on the part of the vsitor. By silence I do not mean that they could not talk to me, but rather that I would not allow any knowledge gained or exchanged by said visitor to leave the room, much less my premises. Life and its experiences had and have made me especially wary of outsiders, strangers, common people, and visitors. Many years of being laughed at, screamed at, and beaten by cruel "masters" had left me quite cynical of the outside world, the so-called "normal" world, and the revolution and the new government only furthered this mistrust. The very little trust that I did have was pushed beyond its means and past the breaking point when they "resettled" me as an "undesirable" mainly just because of my sickening face.


	3. Meet Evey

Due to my extreme preference towards anonymity and solitude, I employed no one, except for a mute man whom I had saved from the Fingermen long ago. Under no conditions was he ever to relay what he knows of my actions and me by written word or sign language, for he knew that he would also be undoubtedly punished. Punished by me or by the neo-Nazis that parade themselves as Fingermen, the police, and the current government. After all, did not Shakespeare pen that "would not a rose by any other name still smell as sweet" in _Romeo And Juliet_, his famous tragedy of the lovers?

I pushed back my chair, and stood up. At full height, standing straight and tall, I reach well over six feet tall. Although I was, always have been, and probably always will be preternaturally thin (some say as a skeleton, but with skin covering the bones) and always have been of such size, I was still a very imposing and menacing figure. Who could it have been this late at night? It was must surely at least two a.m., so how did they happen to have escaped my traps? But that was not to be my main concern, no tin the very least.

I turned down the lights, leaving me in almost complete shadow. Normal practice, it was for me, that low level of light, I myself could and can see very well in the dark. Probably this is just one of my many differences and deformities that I have been burdened with all my wretched life so far. Using a sleight-of-hand trick I learned many years ago, I unlocked the door to the study and made it open seemingly on its own. _If this does not scare the unwanted visitor, I have no idea what would,_ I thought to myself. As they came in, I could sense a palpable sort of fear, perhaps nervousness, upon their manner. _Hmm…_ A young woman was standing in the doorway, unsure of how to proceed, I figured. She was dirty and rough, as if she had run or come a long ways without stopping for rest, nourishment, or a good bathing. But why? Why would a young _Mademoiselle_ do such a thing? I knew for a fact, although I myself had never had the opportunity or need to use them, that there were still some inns and hotels in the surrounding area. Most of these were used primarily for officials of the "Party" that were mainly high-ranking, and some were even illegally operating, but I believe there _were_ some that were cheap, did not ask questions, and were open to the public. Perhaps she was on the lam? What could this innocent looking _Mademoiselle_ possibly have done to have the state and secret police after her, for I was sure that was the reason she was in such a state? How did she find me? _Surely she must be tired, having run all this way_, I thought to myself. I lifted my head, or rather shifted my noggin so that the lady could see my eerily yellow, glowing, fey eyes.

"Come in, _mademoiselle_," I invited in a tone to calm her and dissipate the nervousness I had felt.

"Thank you, sir," the lady stuttered as she spoke. Although she had stuttered and sputtered over these normally easy words (well, for some people, at least), I could tell she had previously recited them over and over again. Could she have been practicing them?

"Whatever is wrong, _mademoiselle_? Are you afraid of me?" I questioned the young lady.

"Cold. And scared… But not of you, sir. Of who is coming…"

"What of, _ma petite_? Tell me, are you truly scared of me, or of what could happen to you if you betray my secrets?" She nodded. "Oh, you surely must be kidding! Women should have no fear of _moi_," I replied with a dramatic theatrical gesture. "I could never stoop bring myself to harm a human of the fairer sex, I can guarantee you. It is dreadfully hard to murder someone when all your instincts push you to remove one's gloves and be polite to them first! Now who has sent you, my _bonne homme_?"

"I have a treat for you."

"From whom?"

"Why does it matter? He said that he knew you were lonely, and that I should try to cheer you up in any way I can. Now I'm pretty sure you've never had a woman before, have you? Just one night and I'll leave," the words rush out of her mouth. Hmm… Who would even dare to bribe _me _with, of all things, _a creature of the fairer sex?_

"Are you sure you want to do this, _ma petite?_ _For once you have seen Erik's face or laid with him, one can never leave again,_" I warned. A worried look crossed her face. It was obvious that she was not here simply to pleasure me in my bed. And why should she have to? No woman could ever look upon my face and live, much less love me and become my living bride…


	4. An Offer Hard To Refuse

Seeing as I had little choice in the matter, along with the fact that I truly never did have a woman before, I consented. Only, I did not fully relent—I _did_ have one condition, which must never be breached: my mask. I was and still am very sensitive about my mask. My masks cover all but my chin, lower lip, and lower jaw line most of the time for ease of communication within my estate, but when in public, not an inch of my skin is exposed. She accepted the odd condition, never questioning my rather odd request. She probably dismissed it as a fetish of mine. She probably thought it would be kinky, for all I know.

I asked the nervous girl, for she had to be barely over the age of eighteen, which would make her no less than ten years younger than me, how she found me and why exactly she singled me out. I am, through various aliases and disguises, a major mover and shaker behind the scenes in many areas, most notably those of resistance workers who hide behind their government-sanctioned and "operated" stores and shops. If she was part of the Nose, I would have been in trouble most certainly. Was she wired? I did not know, much less did I know who sent her or why. She answered without really answering, if you can believe it.

"I do not know his name, sir. He only calls himself 'V'. He told me how to find you. He said he had something in store for you." She looked around as if worried that someone might intrude at any moment. "Although I do not know you, I am afraid for you. Every time he 'meets' with someone like this, they usually end up quite dead!"

"Hmm… 'V', you say? Tell me, is he tall and has a fondness for masks in the likeness of Guy Fawkes?" I asked the timid thing.

"Who's 'Guy Fawkes'?"

"Have you never heard the children's rhyme? 'Remember, remember, the Fifth of November; the gunpowder treason and plot; I know of no reason why the gunpowder treason should ever be forgot.' Ah, another thing the government of the new England has taken from the collective conscience of the mindless cattle that call themselves god-fearing Englishmen. Makes me glad to have been born and traveled abroad throughout my tortured childhood."

I turned around and glared at her through the eye slits of what was my current mask. The effect caused her to cower in fear, just as it did and does to this day for many, many people. "Leave my presence now. I do not care to face a woman with what must surely come. I will send for you when I am ready for both an audience and intimacy. Come, I will escort you to a room. Be sure to keep the door locked after I leave. Now that you have offered yourself to Erik, one must not escape before he is satisfied."

I led her to a little-used room where I kept things of little value, and the occasional "prisoner of war", so to speak. However, looks _can_ be deceptive, especially in my mansion, and this room was no exception. It was escape-proof, solid, and the lock was a false front for a sense of security for any visitor. The lock appeared easy to operate and lock and unlock from inside the room, however, the _real_ lock was pickproof, solid, and could only be operated by my hands.

Having safely ensconced the little vixen in the room without her realizing that it may be a trick, I head back towards my office and don an old Persian cloak that was created specifically for an ancient ancestor of mine who was once known as the "Angel of Death" within the Persian royal court. One can say that my peculiar circumstances run in my family, so to speak. Sure, it has always been a tightly held family secret that few outsiders were told of, and it was, more often than not, tried to be erased from their collective memories.

A breeze from the darkness brought itself and my situation to my attention. _Someone has entered my mansion without my permission, and probably through the French doors upon the veranda in my master bedroom,_ I thought to myself and immediately was on guard. There! Soft footsteps tread upon my Persian carpets lining the hallway outside my door. Throwing my voice, I greeted the voice, startling him out of his stealth.

"Welcome to my home, uninvited guest. I am glad you survived thus far. However, I wouldn't, if I were you, be too proud or haughty about this fact, for you surely won't last much longer." My voice was a low, taunting growl that seemed to emanate from the opposite side of the hallway from where I stood, hidden in the shadows. A laugh responds from the other shadowy figure in the hallway. In the dark, my eyes shone golden, like twin orbs of fire—as if my eyes were two candles, I turned them towards the figure, allowing the intruder to take in my ghostly and demonic appearance.

"Ah, Death, it has been a long time, has it not?"

"You must be the one that calls himself 'V'. What do you want with me? I am no less a villain as dictated by this satirical government which wants to dictate every man, woman, and child's move. I was born this way and 'enhanced' by their cruel experiments. Do you really think that _I _would _cooperate_, much less let them _dictate_ my life and fate also? If they knew I was still alive, they would no doubt kill me, just as they would you."

"Kill you? _Tee-hee…_ Hardly. I know you have contacts within the new government that cannot be traced to you."

"And why would you need these services? They do not come cheaply nor free."

"I know. I also know that my time on this Earth is coming to a close, as is my vendetta. When I die, I shall bequeath all that I have kept safe and hidden to your care, along with the assurance of the protection of my successor. After all, an idea has no flesh."

"Agreed."


End file.
